Lighten up, and put more lights up as well

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'First verse of the fourteenth chapter of the Second Book of
Kings: 'And he said, 'But my brother Esau is an hairy man, but I am
a smooth man'."'

Anyone who has ever endured a cliche-ridden sermon would still
laugh at British comedian Alan Bennett's parody of the predictable
vicar who focuses on obscure Bible verses and labours predictable
metaphors.

This sermon extract, probably Bennett's most famous, is from
Beyond the Fringe, which opened at the Edinburgh Festival in
1960, but still strangely resonates.

"Very many years ago, when I was about as old as some of you are
now, I went mountain climbing in Scotland with a friend of mine.
And there was this mountain, you see, and we decided to climb it.
All day we climbed up and up and up higher and higher and higher
until the valley lay very small below us, and the mists of the
evening began to come down, and the sun to set. And when we reached
the summit, we sat down to watch this magnificent sight of the sun
going down behind the mountains. And as we watched, my friend, very
suddenly, and violently, vomited.

"Some of us think life's a bit like that, don't we? But it
isn't. Life, you know, is rather like opening a tin of sardines. We
all of us are looking for the key. [Some] think they've found the
key, don't they? They roll back the lid of the sardine tin of life.
They reveal the sardines - the riches of life - therein, and they
get them out, and they enjoy them. But, you know, there's always a
little bit in the corner you can't get out. I wonder is there a
little bit in the corner of your life? I know there is in
mine!"

Wonderful stuff. The people I know who are most fond of that
skit are Christians - not that odd when you think they are the ones
who have nodded through the most sermons. It is the same with Monty
Python's Life of Brian, which was a cult hit among church
groups when I was growing up. Why leave love of satire and parody
to the atheists? And why - we might ask in NSW - is everyone taking
themselves so seriously over Christmas?

The ability of religious people to laugh at themselves, and
tolerate being laughed at, is precisely what is being debated in
Britain at the moment, as the now scandalously famous Home
Secretary, David Blunkett, puts forward a bill outlawing religious
vilification.

Rowan Atkinson, famous for his vicar skits and his wonderful
singing of "Hallelujah", arose to fight the bill, arguing that
criticising someone for their race is "manifestly irrational and
ridiculous", but criticising their religion is a right and a
freedom: "And a law that attempts to say you can criticise or
ridicule ideas, as long as they are not religious ideas, is a very
peculiar law indeed. It all points to the promotion of the idea
there should be a right not to be offended ... In my view, the
right to offend is far more important than any right not to be
offended."

Which is absolutely right. From Voltaire to Woody Allen, Monty
Python and John Safran, religion - or at least the human expression
of it - has been given a good booting by satirists. There are
Muslim, Jewish and Christian comedians, as well as Buddhist comics
like Sandy Fox, who memorably joked: "The Buddhist demo was a
nightmare. There were 10,000 Buddhists shouting: 'What do we want?
Nothing! When do we want it?"'

Even Jesus satirised the Pharisees, with all their public
praying and self-righteousness. A man who turned water into wine
couldn't have been a killjoy. As the song goes, Jesus was way
cool.

So why aren't we more relaxed about public celebrations of
Christmas in this city? When Miranda Devine wrote about decorations
and the secular push to undermine Christmas this week, letter
writers were stern. One, a reverend from Cherrybrook, wrote, "We
parish ministers will be most curious to learn how we can better
propagate Christian faith by promoting the commercial
trivialisation of the birth of the Son of God". Another wrote that
"the defining iconography of Christmas isn't the nativity scene,
it's a mish-mash of snow, holly, reindeer, elves, and a fat pagan
in a red leisure suit dedicated to encouraging a cargo-cult
mentality in kiddies".

Eloquently put, but, dammit, I love that fat pagan.
Commercialism - at least in terms of gift-giving - doesn't subvert
the true meaning of Christmas. In many ways it symbolises it - the
thought spent, the giving, the simple joy of unwrapping a gift. To
labour a metaphor, wasn't Jesus God's gift to the world?

Lighten up, Sydney.

Plonk a glowing reindeer on the roof, wrap telegraph poles in
fairy lights, skip past kitsch plastic window displays and chuckle
at the Scrooges and Christmas Cranks who mutter and moan about the
heat and hassle of buying presents and visiting relatives.

Some of the displays - or lack thereof - may be offensive (like
the tacky Madame Tussaud's tableau in London of Posh and Becks as
Mary and Joseph, with Kylie as an angel - I think it's the idea of
Posh as Mary that makes me blanche most). And the fact that
Christmas is a celebration of the birth of Jesus is not something
to be taken flippantly.

But come on, why not throw up a few more lights and let the city
sparkle?